House of Ambition
by knowsbetter01
Summary: Prefect inducts a new boy into a secret club with erotic paintings that demand tribute. The paintings then teach the boys how to make a new potion, and the new boy will be the test subject.
1. Chapter 1: Instead of the Internet

"We don't keep all the old traditions, of course, but Hogwarts still keeps students separate from the muggle world. We're here to study magic, so there will be no internet, no cell phones, none of that. If you want to pass a message to your friends, you do it with magic here. You'll have time enough for muggle technology on breaks."

The housemaster's lecture at Slytherin was not terribly long. There was a list of rules which Reg was expected to know, and "certain standards of behavior and integrity" which he was expected to uphold, and he was to follow the lead of Quentin, who was to mentor him. The old traditions would have had him as a sort of servant to the older boy, but these days the mentorship program was largely an exercise in having a leadership role to list in one's resume.

"So if you've any questions, just ask Quentin. He'll show you your room, and the study hall and lounge, and help you check books from the library and such. If there's a true emergency, I'm on the first floor right above the entryway. And yes, that means I'll know if you try to sneak out late-night to the girls' dormitory, so don't even think about it."

With that, he swept off.

Quentin led Reg up to the little suite of rooms that was assigned to each group of boys. Quentin, as most senior and a prefect, had a single bedroom to himself. Reg was to share one with another first-year boy, and two second year students would have the other. Between the rooms was a common study area with some worn-looking desks and bookshelves.

Reg began to unpack his trunk, Quentin looking on. "All right. You have everything you need then."

Reg laughed. "Well, except internet."

"Can't have that. Once you learn to send messages by magic, you'll hardly miss it."

"Well. There's. You know. Other stuff."

Now it was Quentin's turn to laugh.

"Finish getting unpacked and I'll see you in the dining hall. Smythe has given us homework to complete even before the first class. But after dinner I'll show you how we do texting without phones."

After a filling but bland dinner with his new roommate, Gerry, they returned to the dormitory, the upperclassmen leading the way and the new boys awkward in black robes they still needed to grow into. The second-year students would arrive tomorrow, after a day of orientation and settling in for the new students.

Reg was finishing laying out his desk and getting books ready for the first day of classes when Quentin came in with a pair of small black books embossed with the house sigil on the front in silver.

"These books are for you two, and I want you to know how seriously we take these. Nobody but Slytherin gets them. You know that our house is the house of ambition and success. There are reasons for that: we stay in touch. We help each other out. We keep each other's secrets."

"These notebooks are the first secret of the house to be entrusted to you. If you want to reach another brother of your house, you use these. Just write him a note, and it'll appear in his booklet. Once he's read it, either of you can scratch it out, and it's gone. Entirely private, and entirely ours. We do not speak of these books to outsiders. Don't use them in class – the teachers know about them, but they won't put up with them being used in school, especially not for trading answers on the tests. The girls have them as well, of course, but you'll be barred from writing to them until your second year. If you want to talk to a girl this year, you'll need to summon the courage to talk to her in person."

Reg and Gerry looked at the ground, blushing. They'd seen some of the Slytherin girls across the dining hall during dinner and they seemed unapproachable and not at all interested in them.

The lights dimmed at nine and shut off entirely at nine-fifteen, controlled, Reg assumed, remotely. Even though it had been a long day, he was wakeful. Normally he'd have a wank before bed, but how could he do it with a roommate? He'd wondered before leaving for school how he'd manage it, but it wasn't as though he could ask his friends or his parents. He slowly, silently stroked himself through his pyjamas as he waited for Gerry to fall asleep, but although the other boy's breathing was even, Reg couldn't be sure if it was sleep. Or how sound the sleep might be. Perhaps Gerry would start snoring, which would be annoying but at least would give him confirmation and cover up any other noises.

Eventually he thought to himself, "I'm never going to get it done here... toilet it is." That was a few doors down the dimly illuminated hallway, and offered at least a little more privacy – shower curtains and stalls in a communal locker-room style arrangement. You could rub one out there without being spotted, and in a bathroom stall you'd have perfectly acceptable reasons to be up at any hour with your pants off.

He'd barely started rubbing himself, though, when the bathroom door softly creaked open and someone else came into the room. Several someones – there was a whispered conversation he couldn't quite hear. Then a voice he recognized said "I'll check the stalls," and Quentin's head peered over the divider.

"Having a wank, Reg?"

"Um..."

There was no point denying it. He was sitting on the toilet at midnight with his erect penis in his hands.

"Look, I won't go telling tales. But you have to do me a favor. Our club's got a meeting. You wait here and keep a lookout. If someone comes in, flush the toilet. When it's all clear, wash your hands at the sink on the far left side. If it's NOT all clear, just leave without washing your hands. OK?"

"OK."

"We'll be about a half hour. Keep a good lookout and maybe we'll take you with us next time. I think you'll like it."

A few more whispers – how many boys had heard this little conversation? – and then there was a low grating noise like stone moving. The whispers faded to nothing and the stone noise repeated and then nothing. Reg opened the stall door and looked around – the boys had gone.

What kind of secret club was this? He wasn't sure but Quentin had told him that helping each other out and keeping each other's secrets was a key part of Slytherin's success. He knew what he had to do.

And besides, he hadn't come yet. He went back to the stall to finish himself off and wait for the older boys. The interruption made it difficult to get back to the rhythm of it, but soon enough his teenage hormones had his cock throbbing in his hands as he rubbed his slick foreskin back and forth over the head. In just a few minutes he was breathing hard, and he was just about to come when the door opened again.

He fumbled for the flush lever immediately.

Assured steps echoed through the room.

"Who's in here?"

The house master.

"It's... it's only me, sir. Reg."

"Why are you up so late?"

"Uh, well... I was..."

"Don't lie to me."

"I was having a wank sir."

This evidently was not the sort of honesty the older man had expected, because his reply seemed taken totally off guard.

"Er. Well then. Not the best time for it. But perfectly natural. Have you seen anybody else about?"

"No sir."

"All right then. Wash up and get back to bed. We don't want you boys staying up all night."

"Yes sir."

The housemaster left, and Reg stepped out of the stall to go wash his hands at the far tap. He took extra time doing it, but the older boys didn't reappear quite yet.

After this interruption he really had lost his desire to touch himself, so he just waited for the other boys to return from their mysterious mission. It was getting late and he was bound to be exhausted tomorrow. He couldn't see where they'd gone, but guessed it must have been a secret door. These old magical buildings had to have secret doors, after all. Sure enough, the back of one of the shower stalls slid open with that same deep note and the boys slipped out, smiling and whispering.

Quentin had a smile for Reg. "Good work. This weekend we'll see about you joining our next meeting of the Club. Don't tell a soul. Now get back to bed."

The week passed in a blur: Syllabi, books, classes potions, homework, making eyes at girls across the classroom, new and different varieties of bland boarding-school food, passing notes during study hall using that clever Slytherin notebook.

It was during Friday study hall that he got the note from Quentin: Come to the toilet at midnight.

At the appointed hour, he was there. Nobody else was. He wondered if they'd been having him on, then perhaps thought this too was a test. He washed his hands at the far tap, just as he had the last time, then went into the shower stall he'd seen open before. It was completely sealed, as though it had never opened. He tapped against it. Nothing.

It felt like he had been waiting for ages, but it was only five minutes past midnight when Quentin and the other boys arrived. The tallest of the group, a dark-haired boy with a hint of stubble sprouting on his upper lip, put his finger to his lips and walked up to the back of the shower stall. Pressing his palm against the tile he whispered something sibilant, and the wall simply slid out of the way.

Single file, with Reg and Quentin at the back, they entered a dim, narrow hallway. When the wall closed behind them, the hallway was totally black. Quentin had his hands in front of him and couldn't see a single thing. He heard the older boys walk ahead of him, and followed. It was hard to tell how far they walked, but it wasn't long before a door opened ahead of them and they emerged into a little clubby lounge. It smelled grown-up, with obscure spices with a hint of bleach and beer like the sort of pub Reg's parents didn't frequent. In a corner there was a small cooler, and arrayed about the fireplace were a few benches and chairs. On the walls, Reg quickly noticed, were several of those living paintings that seemed to be everywhere at Hogwarts.

These paintings, though, didn't seem to be in the same style as the portraits of former headmasters and famous figures in the wizarding world. The largest, over the fireplace, held a busty woman clad only in sheer white gauze. Elsewhere in the room, a small landscape painting showed a group of men and women sleeping in a pile, evidently having just finished an orgy, while another woman in a very skimpy undergarments put on lipstick and looked at herself smolderingly in the mirror, as though she were about to go on some sort of hot date.

It was the lady in the painting over the fireplace who spoke first. "Aiden, Quentin, it looks like you've brought us a new guest!" She winked at him, then pinched her nipples to make them stand out more.

Reg had seen plenty of porn on the internet, but he had precious little experience with real live women. He looked at the floor.

"Reg, this is Marie, the guiding spirit of our club," said Quentin. "She's our hostess and also our guide to the sorts of things a young man should know, but doesn't learn in a classroom. Marie, this is my new protege, Reg. He's a good sort."

Marie appraised Reg skeptically, then looked over to Aiden. "What do you think of him, Aiden? Quentin of course wants to vouch for his boy, but you've no interest one way or the other. Is he trustworthy?"

"He's proven himself clever facing the housemaster. I trust him."

"Then let us begin!"

One of the other boys opened the cooler and pulled out a bottle of what looked like butterbeer. Once he started pouring drinks, though, it became evident it had an entirely different color and smell. Another opened a small box on the mantel, and the obscure spice smell became stronger as he filled several pipes and passed them about. The older boys puffed at their pipes like statesmen as Marie looked on approvingly. "Make sure the new boy has a drink and a smoke. Not too much now!"

Aiden offered Reg a puff on his pipe, and Reg sputtered at the smoke in his lungs. It didn't smell like the pipe from his granddad, or even like weed he knew some boys from his muggle school would smoke in the woods after football practice. It didn't smell like anything he'd ever smelled before.

He was grateful for Quentin's offer of a drink, a half-filled cup of some kind of punch. It was like the sip of champagne he'd been given at New Year's this year, when he'd finally been allowed to stay up until midnight with the adults, but somehow different. It didn't fizz like champagne, but there must have been magic in it, for it tingled in some other way he couldn't quite identify.

As the drinks and pipes passed about the room, the conversation among the boys turned here and there – quidditch, muggle football, which teachers were fair, which girls were pretty, which might be easy, which spells were best for cologne and to clear up spots. And then, as though scheduled, the boys fell silent and Marie began to speak.

"Reginald, you're new, so you won't know how this club truly works, but the other boys do. I survive here, despite the persecution of your priggish housemaster _Smythe_ " - she said this with real disdain – because you boys feed me. You bring me tribute, and I teach you the fun things your parents and teachers don't want you to know."

"What kind of tribute?" Reg said, head spinning from a combination of drink, smoke, and arousal at Marie's uncannily fascinating breasts.

"It's not bad. I'll show you mine if you show me yours, you know."

She leered at him. Reg was scared but couldn't deny the tent in his trousers. She clearly noticed it, staring at his crotch as she held the gauze over her nipples, lowering it almost the the edge of the areola. "Go on."

He looked over at Quentin and Aiden, the other boys arrayed behind them. They nodded.

He unbuckled his belt, lowering his trousers to halfway down his thighs.

Marie cooed. "That's what I like to see. Show me everything. You think I'm here to be looked at because I'm in a painting – but I'm also looking at you! And I want to see young men who want me!"

Reg kicked off his shoes and let his trousers fall to his ankles, stepping out of them.

"Everything," Marie said, letting the gauze drop from her shoulders and cupping her breasts toward him invitingly. "Come closer and let me see you. I want you bare before me."

He shucked the rest of his clothes as rapidly as he could, stepping entirely nude before the painting, his erection throbbing, the other boys behind him totally forgotten.

"Touch yourself" she commanded, reaching a hand below the frame, evidently between her own legs. "Show me how you do it. I need to see it."

Mesmerized, he did as he was told, stroking his long-denied cock slowly at first, and then rapidly. Vaguely, he was aware that the people in the other paintings in the room were also watching him expectantly, that the other boys were staring. The room took on the feel of a cult ceremony.

"All of you," Marie whispered.

There was a sound of zippers as the rest of the club opened their flies. Marie leaned back on her couch and lifted her legs, holding them against what could only be the frame on her side of the picture. He could see everything. Oh god. Two fingers of her left hand deep in her pussy and her right hand working her clit.

Marie moaned: "Show me how you want me. Show me your come. Come for me."

They did. Semen spattered the hearth and the rug behind it.

"OH!" Marie was clearly enjoying this as well. "FUCK." The lights flickered. The semen sank into the stone and carpet, smelling of chlorine and spices and the sort of pub Reg's parents didn't frequent.


	2. Chapter 2: Prefects and Polyjuice

They acted as though it hadn't happened, although Reg realized that the whole point of the club, more or less, was that moment.

Marie seemed more vibrant than before. The colors in her painting were brighter, the background details more elaborate. There was a pinkness in her cheeks and above her breasts that hadn't been there before.

"Now," she said, "that I've had my tribute, it's time for your lesson."

"To thank you for bringing me your new _member_ ," she giggled "I'll show you how to complete the potion you started last time. Go ahead and bring out the cauldron and the beaker."

"After completing what we did last year, your potion needed to age at least a month... but you foolish boys had to go on _break_ over the _summer,_ so it wound up being three. At any rate, you're ready now for the final step."

"It's simple at this point, fortunately: You'll add ground boomslang skin, mixed with part of the person you wish to imitate. I recommend hair, it's the easiest to get, but if you've got toenails or teeth or even toes, that works too."

Reg realized, with a chill, what was happening: Polyjuice. This was bad. Worse than a muggle making a fake ID.

Awesome. That must be how they got the booze.

"Now, boys. It's almost 2. You better get back before _Smythe_ finds you missing. You get that boomslang skin and your intended hair, and I'll see you in a week at midnight."

Saturday morning they were allowed to sleep late. Reg woke midmorning in a daze, unsure if he'd dreamt the entire night's events before.

Gerry was already up. "Where were you last night? That beef at supper give you the squits?"

"No."

"What then?"

"Nothing."

"So, the squits it was."

"I was … I was seeing a girl."

"DEFINITELY diarrhea, then."

Reg let it lie. The truth was too strange, and too forbidden to speak.

Once again, it was during study hall that Reg found his little black book nudging him with a new message."

QUENTIN: Who do you think is the prettiest girl in the entire school.

REGINALD: Sara McInness. Definitely. Classic.

QUENTIN: I guess. You could see her winning a BAFTA award and meeting the Queen. But I mean sexy. Which girl do you most want to see naked.

REGINALD: Well, Alice Hopwood, then.

QUENTIN: Why?

REGINALD: Sara is the girl your mum likes. Alice is exciting. She's naughty. Her hair looks like she's been in bed, and not just sleeping. Mostly I just can't look away from her ass.

QUENTIN: I have an assignment for you.

REGINALD: Huh?

QUENTIN: I'm your prefect. You're supposed to just say "yes, what do you need?" when I say I need you to do something.

REGINALD: OK, what do you need?

QUENTIN: I need some of Alice's hair.

REGINALD: Why?

QUENTIN: Don't ask why. You'll thank me. You have 6 days.

In retrospect, Reg should have known why.

He wasn't sure how to go about it, though. Alice may have looked like a tart, but she kept quite busy with study halls, sports, and other clubs. The clubs! Reg didn't quite think he could slip into the girl's football team so easily, but he could certainly be credible as a member of the Arithmancy club, which conveniently met right after football. Alice would still have her gym bag with her, and in that, her hairbrush. He'd just have to sit behind her, nab it when she wasn't looking, and then leave as soon as politely possible.

The first two steps happened quite easily. Wednesday after class he pretended to study near the football pitch, then tagged along behind Alice and her friends to a plain-looking room where the club met. He looked exactly like any other fresher trailing harmlessly behind a girl he fancies but can't quite manage to speak to.

At the club he sat not behind her, but back and to the side. Perfect. She set her gym back behind her and faced the blackboard as the club president began the meeting. Alice rapidly began to doze. This wasn't a club she actually enjoyed, evidently, just one she attended as a resume booster, just like Quentin's alleged guidance as a prefect.

It was simple grabbing her hairbrush from an outside pocket and tucking it into his own bag. He thought of taking the hair from it and returning it, but guessed it would be riskier. You don't want to be caught hiding evidence of the crime when you could have got away with it. Besides, she'd just think it was lost. People lost hairbrushes all the time.

The rest of the meeting wasn't that bad. Reg thought he might even come back. The other students were welcoming, and when he didn't grasp a point in the discussion (he didn't understand very many points of arithmancy, it turned out) they were glad to help out, and pleased at his interest.

It was only afterwards, as he turned down the hallway, that Alice grabbed his elbow.

"What the fuck, kid?"

"I... I'm sorry?" stammered Reg.

"You stole my _hairbrush?_ "

"I... Im sorry?" he repeated

"WHY?"

"I... Q... The older boys..."

"On a _dare_?"

Reg realized he had an out.

"I didn't want to! They said I'd be a pussy if I didn't!"

"You just got caught by a girl. Are you a pussy?"  
"No! … I tried, right?"

"You want _me_ to reassure you that you're not a pussy? While I'm threatening to kick your ass?"  
"No, I just... "

"You just want me to let you go. Preferably with proof you stole my hairbrush. To fulfill some dare your stupid seniors want and oh lord this is why I will _NEVER_ date another high school boy. HERE."

She pulled a knot of hair from the brush, thrusting it at him.

"You've got guts, at least. But here, a clump of my hair to prove you talked to me or fucked me or whatever they want to make you do to test your courage. You boys couldn't find your ass with both hands, but let me tell you this: you _owe_ me for this."

She stormed off, muttering something about how the girls' dorm was far more civilized, and leaving Reg confused and holding a small clump of knotted hair.

REGINALD: Got it.

QUENTIN: Got what?

REGINALD: You know.

QUENTIN: Oh! Sweet! Bring it on Friday. You know when and where.

Friday at midnight, the boys returned to Marie's lounge. Reg expected there would be a repeat of the prior week's performance, which was fine by him – even if the other boys were there, wanking in time with a magical woman was the sexiest thing he'd ever done. The drinks and smoking and general camaraderie were great, but to be honest, he was in it for the magical pornography.

This night, however, was different. Marie was there, as were the residents of the other erotic paintings. And there was still a smell of firewood, forbidden spices, and stale beer. But there was a cauldron in the middle of the rug where Reg had starred last week, already half-filled with a brownish liquid. It wasn't large, perhaps a liter. But it was definitely a cauldron. One of the same cauldrons they used in potions class – a row of small beakers in a rack attached to one side, a set of ladles and a set of lead, silver, and gold stirring rods on the other. The potion didn't smell enticing at all, not like the way the room had smelled when Reg first entered it. It smelled like sweat.

Marie greeted the boys effusively, and asked Quentin if everything was ready.

"It is!"

"Let's see it!"

From within his blazer, Quentin brought out a spice jar with a gray powder in it, opened it, held it up to the painting for inspection, then set it on a small side table.

"Good" said Marie. Don't put it in the cauldron yet. Set it in the mortar for now. What else have you brought me?"

Quentin looked at Reg. Reg hadn't taken Alice's hair from the breast pocket of his coat since the altercation at the Arithmancy club. He brought it out now, and following Quentin's lead, held it up for Marie's inspection.

"Good. Hair's the smart choice. That's the easiest way, and why go the hard way if there's a shortcut? Good. Now, add it to the mortar with the boomslang, and crush it all together."

Reg put the knotted bit of hair in the bowl, and Quentin took up the pestle and combined them.

"And put that on into the cauldron and stir it with the lead bar."

As they did, the liter of liquid expanded, then contracted, then shone like a beacon, then emitted a puff of smoke that stung Reg's nose and eyes.

When the smoke cleared, the boys saw that their cauldron contained a a glowing liquid, not quite white, and not quite silver. It looked uncannily like semen, although Reg didn't quite want to say that.

Marie glowed approvingly. "It's ready. You can put it in the bottles now."

Quentin and Aiden poured the liquid into the bottles, stopping them up with corks and placing them carefully in a rack on the sideboard.

Once the potion was entirely bottled, Quentin signaled and two boys came forward to bring the cart off to the side.

"Now." Said Marie. "Now, we truly begin your lessons. Which of you beautiful young boys will come forward to be my volunteer?"

A worry at the back of Reg's mind became more pronounced. He should have known all along that this wasn't about getting liquor. It was far easier to get someone's older brother to buy a bottle. No, this was like last week's meeting, only far more real: Someone was going to wind up turning into Alice for the evening. And Alice was going to be on display in the flesh.

Quentin pressed his hand against Reg's shoulder. "Our new boy will be the volunteer. He chose our subject, and he went and got the hair."

Reg stammered and blushed and shook his head, but he couldn't exactly deny it. Quentin had told him to pick the girl he thought was hottest, the one he most wanted to see without her clothes. And Quentin was both his prefect and the one orchestrating this club.

Quentin whispered in his ear, softly, "OK Reg. Time to prove we can trust you." The older boy's breath on his ear created a tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach. This was very wrong, and very thrilling. "Step up and do as Marie says."

Two steps were all it tok to put him in on the rug at the center of a semicircle of nervous boys, directly before Marie's portrait, where she looked out at him with undisguised excitement and an almost predatory leer.

"You're going to love this, dear. It's been so long since I've been able to do it myself and I miss it so dearly. Let's have you strip off now."

Reg hesitated, but Marie's friendly smile, and the fact that she dropped her shawl to bare her breasts as he took off his shirt, helped him along.

"Look only at me, now." She put one finger into her mouth, sucking on it lasciviously while staring at Reg's slim, naked body. He felt a tingling warmth, and the anxiety of being naked in front of a dozen clothed club members began to fade. She slid the finger out of her mouth and around her lips, then sighed, leaning forward and pressing her breasts up toward the edge of the picture. It was undeniably hypnotic. Several of the boys in the semicircle were holding their hands in front of their trousers, both to hide and to quietly encourage their erections, but Reg was on full display, the tip of his cock glistening.

At a nod from Marie, Quentin came forward with one of the bottles, uncorked it, and handed it to Reg.

"Now, drink."

The potion was thick, with a taste that wasn't quite pleasant but didn't seem as bad as he'd feared it would be either, a clinging flavor that was only slightly bitter. It went down easily enough, at least, and as he poured it back he could already feel it starting to take hold.

Quentin took the bottle back from him before it fell to the ground.

It began with a tickling sensation at his head, as his hair suddenly brushed his shoulders. He looked at Marie, confused.

"You used hair, it starts with hair."

He looked down. The floor seemed further away. Had he gotten taller? His already modest penis had shrunk, while its sparse covering of hair thickened. His hips swelled. And he was growing breasts. Without even thinking, he reached up and caressed them. They were soft to the touch, firm in a way he could hardly have described to someone else, and when he pressed them gently a swell of pleasure grew in his belly.

His still-hard cock kept shrinking, but kept every bit of sensation and then some as it tucked itself away in a newly formed slit, which he knew without touching was already soaking wet. When Marie had encouraged him to take off his clothes, he hadn't thought about covering himself, but now he was overwhelmed by the urge to clap his hands over his crotch. As he did so, his breasts moved and he realized he'd have to cover them too.

Before speaking, he knew what his voice would be like.

"Oh god. It worked. I'm her."

"Only for a few hours," Marie reassured him. "Long enough to enjoy it, but you'll be back to yourself by morning."

Enjoy. He knew what that meant.

"So, now I do the show?"

Quentin touched his shoulder now, but it felt different from the friendly clap on the back he'd gotten before. And when he turned to meet his prefect's eyes, they glistened strangely.

"Come sit over here with me."

Reg was naked and unsteady on Alice's legs, but with Quentin steering her by the elbow they came over to a small daybed and sat down. They were still in clear view of Marie's painting, and the mass of boys, now decidedly and unashamedly erect, made sure to keep a clear sightline for her.

Reg wasn't sure what to do, but Marie coaxed him along."Go ahead and touch those new breasts. Show us how it feels!" He rubbed them, lifting them up to show the boys and leaning forward, then, as she had the other night, reached between his legs and touched his lips softly to test them. He'd seen pictures but hadn't ever touched a pussy before, and although this wasn't how he'd imagined doing it, he had to admit it was hot. His labia parted easily, and he flinched as he touched his clitoris too hard, leaning back and pulling his legs together.

"Oh no, dear. Keep your legs open. Share that lovely pussy with us."

He opened his legs and tried again, more softly, feeling about for his opening, finding it, wriggling one finger inside, gasping, closing his eyes. He opened them at the sound of zippers coming open. He hadn't really looked at the other boys last time – he was too focused on Marie. Now they were pointing at him, some larger, some smaller. Quentin was beside him on the couch, and his cock was much larger, and much closer.

Marie cooed at him. "All right now, dear, give us a show. You remember how I did it – round and round up top..."

He circled a finger tentatively around his clit, finding the slick sensation on his fingers almost as exciting as the thrill that arced from the contact, all the sensitivity of his cock and more, concentrated in one spot.

His left hand caressed a breast, pinched a nipple, then found its way below the right as he probed the wetness spreading around his slit. His middle finger found his vaginal opening, and he moaned. The voice seemed alien to him, as though it was coming from far away. He briefly wondered how often Alice did this. It felt amazing.

He heard the other boys in the room begin to masturbate in earnest, and he picked up speed with his own hands, and then he heard nothing but his ragged breath and the pulse in his ears.

Unlike when he was a boy, he didn't feel any less desire after the orgasm. He wanted more. He looked at Quenin slackly, his lips wet and his legs weak. Quentin smiled.

"Did you like that, Alice?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Now give us a kiss."

Reg pulled his hand from between his legs in confusion. The boys hadn't come at the same time he did. The show wasn't over. Quentin leaned closer.

His first kiss, then, was while transformed into someone else. Was it even his kiss? Quentin's face was rough with adolescent stubble, and it chafed against Alice's lips as he leaned in harder, reaching in with his tongue. It felt slimy and strange but the desire surged within him, almost shaky. Quentin's hand slid up his thigh and he let it, gasped as the older boy thrust a finger inside him, then slid it back out and rubbed it slickly around and across his clit. He couldn't kiss Quentin anymore, just open his mouth and moan as the shaking took hold of him and he came again.

He kissed Reg again, then pressed against the back of his neck, moving him downward. Reg knew what this meant, and pulled away briefly.

"I made you feel good, didn't I? Now it's your turn to do it for me."

Reluctantly, he looked down at Quentin's erection, the glistening tip reaching out from the foreskin, a droplet of pre-cum paused at the very opening. He couldn't look away, and this time let Quentin guide his head downward until it was at his mouth.

"Kiss it for me. That's a girl. Does it taste good?"

Reg had tasted his own pre-cum before and Quentin's was no different – sweet, salty, pleasant. He licked it.

"Say it."

"It's good."

"Go ahead. It'll go on into that sweet mouth of yours. Suck on it."

He put it as far into his mouth as he could, trying not to let his teeth touch, and Quentin bucked forward, gagging him. The position was awkward, leaning over to one side, and Quentin nudged him to the front, where he knelt.

"Why don't you get in front of me. There you go. Use your hands on the base and... yeah. Like that."

Reg was getting the hang of it. His ass was facing away from Quentin, and toward the rest of the watching club, who were slowly masturbating. He wondered if he was expected to suck them all or if blowing Quentin was the show and they'd all masturbate for him as they had done for Marie. But the thought rapidly faded from his awareness as he focused on Quentin's cock in his mouth, trying to fit it as far in as he could, then working up a rhythm with his hands and his tongue. He took one hand from Quentin and slid it between his own legs, trying to match the cadence of the cock in his mouth and a finger on his clit.

With no warning, Quentin came in his mouth and come spilled past his lips and across his chin. It tasted bitter, like he expected it would, but he was so close to coming himself he hardly minded. He glanced up and saw his face in a mirror – Alice's face, spattered with semen. His toes curled and he pressed his face into Quentin's crotch as another orgasm swept him. If he could keep doing this, the flavor was fine.

Quentin stood and poured himself a drink as Reg caught his breath on the carpet, and the other boys surrounded him. Aiden was closest, then Thomas, then a number of boys whose names he didn't recall. Aiden helped him up from the floor with one hand, but cupped his ass with another, and Reg began to realize what was coming. He felt adrift in some sort of internal ocean of desire, waves rolling over him and tossing him about. He liked it, he realized, but that was hardly the point: he was definitely in the grip of forces far more powerful than he was, and even if he didn't like it, this was going to happen.

Hands reached out to him from all sides. At least two different boys groped his breasts inexpertly, and one stabbed at his pussy. He jerked back and Aiden clucked at the over-eager crowd. They backed off slightly. They were still standing by the couch, and Reg began to kneel to suck him off, but Aiden asked him to get on all fours on the couch itself, then got behind him. Oh god.

He was going to get fucked.

Aiden was gentle at first, holding his girlish hips and pushing a finger into him slowly, building up to a faster tempo, slowing down and adding a second. Reg began to moan as a now-familiar feeling built slowly inside him. Then the fingers disappeared and Reg felt Aiden's cock against him. It slid in slowly with a rush of heat, and as Aiden began to move faster Reg began to moan again, then squeal. He closed his eyes and let the feeling take him.

Something brushed against his face, sticky and sweet against his lips. He knew it was a cock. Thomas, probably. He wasn't quite sure. He didn't quite care, either, and took it into his mouth. He couldn't do much with it, but let Aiden's thrusts against him handle the work of sucking it off. It poked at the back of his throat a little, like Quentin's had, but Reg found it didn't bother him as much. Thomas pulled it back and began to masturbate furiously.

"Open your mouth, Alice. I wanna give you my come."

Reg opened his mouth.

"Taste it!"

It spattered on his tongue and nose and cheeks, hot and bitter, and he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror as Thomas moved away, Alice getting fucked from behind, her tits bouncing in time with the thrusts. Aiden's cock was pushing against something inside him, and he felt an orgasm building again. He pushed back, squeezing, and Aiden caressed his ass, sliding a finger into his crack and down toward his asshole. He moaned loudly.

Aiden laughed. "Oh, she likes it, boys."


End file.
